I haven't written poetry in a while, so I might be a bit rusty but whatever. I always had trouble imagining that children of Apollo could only be good at one thing seeing how multi-disciplinary their father was, so here's this little piece.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters portrayed below.
Things that Can't Be Said Outloud
Literal or not, words have clutched to concepts and words desperately in the spiral communication
And since then they have refused to let go
Nests of verbs and adjectives implanting themselves in the mouths of humanity
Growing in the brains of children with a thirst that cannot be quenched
Unbelievably important in the entire system of communication,
And expanding unlike any other unorganic contraption.
Great and broad, but disappointing in the sense that
Every word I could use to describe you refuses to form when I'm at the mercy of your eyes
I don't want to be a coward
If some knights get to save a princess
I've fought in wars, I have lead men
I've always spoken my mind, I have been vicious
I tried the impossible, I have been ruthless
Even if I weren't missing a princess and the gentle steed,
I would be a coward still
Since there are things that I can't muster the courage to tell you
I heard a girl muttering
And it was like every bird had stopped to sing.
You were being carried away
And everyone was returning to play
After listening to your foreshadowing words.
She wasn't a child, she should have known
If ignorance was a kingdom, she'd be on the throne
She snickered in your direction
Turned to her friends, and they all paid attention
As she spoke of how horrid you were
She said it like you were a problem
As if your hair didn't encompass autumn
As if your eyes were the cue
For me to recall every green I'd seen, every hue
She said that you were a freak and a shrew
I hope you never heard anything of the sort
I hope that you know that to this there is no support
You are a blessing not a sin
And since I can't let that girl win
I will tell you this:
I don't know who the gods gave you to, but I'm glad I'm not far behind
When I was younger
I saw my mother cry
And swore that never would I ever
Let anybody close enough so they could stab
Nobody would ever come in for the kill.
Nobody dangerous would ever approach me.
Nobody with the power to slip into my mind as if it was theirs
Nobody with a sharpened wit,
Nobody with an imagination big enough to wander
Would ever get close enough to touch me.
But if you came to me
With a sharpened knife in one hand,
A sword in the other,
And nothing between your open arms
I would run faster than I ever had before.
Things I cannot say out loud
Your hair looks nice today
You're not a freak, don't listen to what they say
Don't wipe the gold off your face, it suits you
Is that fork hole in your jeans new?
Your curls are perfect, no matter the mess
Your head is so high, you walk like noblesse
May I see your newest painting, each makes me fall a bit in love
Your eyes make me think of the gardens of Olympus above
You really look good when you're wearing blue
I love you
Today you pulled me from the Apollo cabin while I was visiting and had me sit with you during the campfire.
That's it. It's not even a poem. It just made me very happy.
Verba volant,
Scripta manent,
Words dissapear,
Writing stays.
I think
It's wrong
Because whether
Or not
I wrote
It down
I would
Always
Love you
A painter once told me
That his colours were never random
His colours never even went with the things he painted.
He used feelings and meanings to put hues with canvas.
He talked to be about what green meant.
He listed, and I paraphrase:
Growth (like how far I think I've come since that first time you snapped at me)
Patience (like how much you lose it when I put my foot in my mouth)
Harmony (like the nights I've come to love and treasure with you)
Safety (like that feeling of complicity and wellbeing that only comes while you're at my side)
Endurance (like how you haven't give up on me and I've had no reason to do so to you)
And I think that I'll go back to him
And say
"Sir, I saw a girl with the prettiest eyes
And I think you're on to something real great."
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I suck at poets and you don't
But there are better ways that you could tell me you liked me
xo Rachel
PS- you left your notebook in my cabin last time you came at camp. Whoops, I guess. Oh well. I sent it back with Frank. IM me :)
